


Never let go

by K_2304 (TheKezta)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKezta/pseuds/K_2304
Summary: Everything I am is her.I'm a reflection of her, of everything she taught me.
Kudos: 2





	Never let go

I think everyone is aware of the fact that they’ll have to say goodbye to their parents someday from quite a young age. I think the problem is I never imagined that it would be this soon. I’d sort of prepared myself when I first found out mum was sick, but then she got better and everything was okay. I didn’t need to worry anymore.

I didn’t get the chance to prepare this time.

Maybe that’s what feels so bittersweet. I mean, would things have been different if I’d known sooner? If I’d known the last time I saw her would be the last time? Would I hug her tighter? Would I say all the things I needed to say?

Or would I just have never let go?

Would any of the words have felt right? Would any of it felt like enough? Or would I have spent forever regretting all the words I misspoke or all the ones I missed? Would I have just found different things to agonise over? Maybe it was better this way. Because the last time I saw her was just that. I gave her a hug, I told her I loved her, and said that I’d see her soon. Maybe it’s better because it wasn’t clouded by a fear for the future.

I see her in everything. In the sunset and the sunrise when the sky is clear. In every robin or blue tit that lands a little closer, sings a little louder, seems a little braver. I see her in the kindness of others, and when people talk to me gently on a bad day I hear her voice. When I hug my friends, I hold on extra tight as though it’s her and I never want to let go.

I see her anytime I look in the mirror. Not just because I look like her, as so many people keep telling me as I get older. No, it’s because. Everything I am is her. I’m a reflection of her, and everything she taught me. Of all the days we’d do karaoke at the traffic lights, of all the nights she held me while I cried, of all the times she looked me in the eyes and reminded me that I was the one that determined my worth, not others. I have her laugh, I have her smile, I have her foul language and her crunchy, flimsy joints. I have her flat feet, and I have her music taste. And I have every. Single. Lesson. That she learnt the hard way that she passed on to me. That it’s okay if my laugh is too loud or if my thighs stick together or if my stomach is obvious in that dress. That my value isn’t kept in my body, that it’s kept in my mind, and my words, and my heart. I breathe the air she breathed. I sit under the sun that she sat under. I walk on the ground that she walked on and I live under the roof that she fought for. I speak the language she taught me, and she made my body herself from scratch. I am her. 

But there are days where I just. Think about her. And it’s nice because for a long time that hurt too much. But there are some days I can just. Be with her, in a way? And in my mind, we’re sitting there at the park, at our spot. And we have our little overpriced pots of icecream from the cafe, and our bottles of fanta and coke. And we’re laying on our towels in the sun next to the lake, and those two geese that always come see us waddle over. And we’re both giggling as I teach them to eat from my hand, and she laughs and smiles at me as I finally manage to pet the goose, which has been my goal for about 2 weeks, and by the way they are so, so soft. And I live and bask in this moment where it’s just us, and the sun, and our icecream, and our geese.

And there are nights I stare at the ceiling and try to imagine dying. And how she must have felt. I lay there and I try to understand how it feels to… stop existing. And there are some nights where it really just hits me that she. Literally. Doesn’t exist anymore. And actually, there’s something about trying to visualise the feeling of nonexistence that makes the brain panic. And as hard as I try I can’t comprehend the fact that she’s really really gone. I mean I know she is. But I can’t really understand it either way. 

She should've had longer. _We_ should've had longer. 

But we didn't.


End file.
